Under The Stars
by lookaliveerin
Summary: John is an army doctor, Sherlock is a soldier. The two form an unlikely friendship, but what will the effects of being in a war do to them?


_**Warnings**!: character death, blood ( I guess ), injury_

* * *

Explosion. That's all John Watson knew had happened when multiple bodies were carried into the hospital. Doctor-mode kicked in, relaxation was over, and John rushed around to heal as many people as possible. It was chaos. John knew he could control his nerves, he was accustomed to the lifestyle after the many months of living in that way. He had to expect injuries everyday. Explosions weren't uncommon, but the number of wounded soldiers was high compared to normal this time. He ran to a man who lay on a bed, blood pouring around him from the shredded skin and severely damaged leg. Mike Stamford was the man's name, John knew him from a previous hospital visit. He was nice, a happy guy, out at war for a change in life experience. John's hands were covered in blood, his ears ringing with the sounds of people begging for help. Screaming. There was so much screaming. Lots of people tried to stay tough, but the injuries some had were unbearable. John was speaking to Mike, but he wasn't sure what he was actually saying. It was most likely something along the lines of "we'll save you, you're going to be okay". That's what he told everyone. It gave some people hope in their last moments. That's exactly what it did for Mike, whose heart monitor stopped and he took a final breath. There were so many people to treat, many doctors rushed to help others before time of death could be recorded. John had to hold back the emotion he felt about the man dying, what was important was saving other lives, because that's what doctors do and so John did it.

* * *

The following day, John met an unusual soldier.

"Sherlock Holmes," he introduced himself as.

"Doctor Watson," was the response.

"How's the injuries?" John asked.

"Boring," Sherlock replied with a small smile. "Doesn't even hurt."

John laughed in a friendly way and proceeded to check the shoulder wound Sherlock had from the previous day's explosion. There was no sign of any complications, so he could be released and get back to work.

"You'll be glad to know you can go fight again today," John explained to his patient. "Try not to risk your life again, okay?"

"Dr Watson, I am a soldier in a war, my life is constantly at risk."

John smiled, filling in the paperwork on the clipboard. "Call me John."

* * *

The men grew their friendship over a short period of time. When John got off work, he often met Sherlock to listen to the things he'd seen in the day and also to share his own day.

"I saw a soldier hit himself in the face today with his own gun," Sherlock explained as he and John walked back to where they slept.

"And I saw the blood dripping from his broken nose when he got to us," John giggled with Sherlock.

"He was trying to show off to one of the other soldiers. She clearly wasn't interested, she's interested in Lestrade."

"Oh, really?" John asked as he walked over to his own tent. "How did you deduce that?"

"Simple," Sherlock stated confidently. "I saw them kissing the other day."

Sherlock nodded his head once at John with a wink then went into his tent.

* * *

One night, John was woken up by the sound of whispering nearby. It wasn't a quiet whisper, and could only belong to one person. John climbed out of his small bed and opened the front of his tent, peeking his head out and hiding the rest of him.

"What time is it?" John asked sleepily.

"Late enough for the stars to look beautiful and early enough for me to wake you up without you yelling at me," he rushed. "Come on, John!"

"Alright, alright. Give me a minute." John quickly threw on different clothes and met Sherlock outside of the tent again.

Sherlock smiled and walked ahead, John following him closely. As they got a short distance away from the collection of tents and into open space, Sherlock sat down on the sandy floor and patted the ground next to him for John to join.

"What are we doing?" John asked, but sat down anyway.

Sherlock lay down onto his back and stared at the sky, and then John did the same.

"The stars look nice out here. You don't see them as well back at home because of the city lights," Sherlock commented.

John turned his head to look at Sherlock who appeared lost and troubled.

"What's worrying you?" He asked.

Sherlock turned his head to face John with an expression the doctor had never seen on the man before. "I'm worried one of us will die here. I want to go back to London and get a flat and annoy Mycroft about his weight."

"You could go home," John comforted.

"No, John, I want you to come with me."

John's heart missed a beat and he turned back to face the stars with Sherlock still watching him.

"I want that too, Sherlock."

* * *

The next week, John was called out of the hospital and into the battlefield. There weren't enough people to bring people back to the hospital who needed it because of a lack of time. John was directed on where to go and saw many different soldiers struggling to get to safety and avoid gunfire. John's heart raced with panic but he knew he had to do his job and worry later. He saw a soldier get shot in the shoulder, and one in the chest, and one in the upper leg. That final one was the soldier he rushed to, seeing someone else get to the first, and knowing the second was dead immediately. John rushed over and froze.

"Sherlock."

"John," he coughed, shaking and trying to apply pressure to the bullet wound that was in his leg.

"Oh my God," John mumbled, then rushed to work. "It's fine, you're going to be okay. I'll fix you up, okay?" John said. "I'll get you better and we'll go back to London and I can look after you, does that sound good?"

Sherlock smiled weakly, his eyes looking red and his breathing faltering. There was so much blood.

John's hands shook violently despite his attempts to stay calm.

"It's okay, John," Sherlock forced. "Doesn't even hurt."

John tried to smile back, until Sherlock reached out and put a weak arm around John. "Need to keep you safe, go back to hospital."

"Sherlock, stop, I'm going to help you."

"Too late, John. S'ok..." his eyes began to close.

John moved and wrapped his arms around Sherlock, and only then did he notice that Sherlock had been shot in the stomach as well.

"Don't leave me, Sherlock," John stuttered, holding the thin, injured man in his arms.

"Never, John." Sherlock looked up at John as he spoke, like those words meant more than anything in the world. His eyes shut.

"Sherlock?" John asked. "Come on, Sherlock. Wake up. We can get through this." He shook the man lightly. "Sherlock, please."

His eyes began to water, his chest became tight like he couldn't breathe and he clutched onto the man in his arms. His best friend. John's world fell silent, blocking out the sound of his own scream.

"SHERLOCK!"

* * *

Recovering was the worst thing for John. He went home, found a flat in London and lived a boring, repetitive life. Wake up, have breakfast, watch TV, read a newspaper, have lunch, go for a walk, watch more TV, have dinner, shower, sleep. The only real difference was on a Tuesday when he saw his therapist who tried to get him to forget the limp that he shouldn't have had. Nights were the worst, when he'd dream about the death over and over and over. Sometimes he'd want to go back to Afghanistan just to feel closer to Sherlock again, to watch the stars late at night and imagine Sherlock being there with him. That's all he could do. That's all he ever did.

* * *

**_A/N: So, I'm not sure how this turned out. It's basically a shorter, although I think improved, redraft of a fic I'd written. I know it's short, and I'm terribly sorry for any inaccurate information I have included. I did research as much as I could, but that's all I could do. Please leave reviews if you've got time, as I do appreciate them so much and will try to reply! Thank you for reading x _**


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